


wise counsel.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Politics, Pre-Thor (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14977733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The night before Thor's coronation, Fandral finds his lover alone in his quarters.





	wise counsel.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zombiecheetah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiecheetah/gifts).



> Prompt from zombiecheetah: Pre-Thor Dashingfrost the night before Thor’s coronation?

Fandral watches Loki for a long few moments, hovering in the doorway of Loki’s balcony. Loki is stood outside, his elbows rested on the golden edge of his banister, his fingers steepled together and pressed against his lips, his thumbs pressed tight to the base of his chin. His eyes are swirling with thought, and Fandral asks softly, “You alright?”

Loki jolts, turning to look at him with a wild look in his eyes, and then he sees it is only Fandral, and he relaxes.

“I’m fine,” he says. It is a lie. Fandral reaches out, cupping Loki’s cheek, and Loki allows it, his eyes closing as he leans into Fandral’s palm. 

“Tell me, my prince,” Fandral murmurs softly. 

“He isn’t ready,” Loki whispers. “He isn’t… He isn’t ready. How can Father– It is foolishness of the highest order. He gives no thought to diplomacy; he becomes violent at the scantest provocation; he will throw any responsibility he has to the  _wind_  at the first sign of an enjoyable quest–”

“He isn’t going to be king right away,” Fandral reminds him quietly. “He will simply be crown prince, officially, now.” Loki presses his lips into a thin line, staring out over the darkening skies. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, but there remains a warmth to the summer heavens, a blue that is only just beginning to darken. “There will be some time between his ascent to the throne and tomorrow night.”

“Do you think he will be a good king?” Loki asks. Fandral leans back slightly, pressing his lips tightly together. Thor is one of his greatest friends, his dearest compatriots. “I will know if you lie,” Loki reminds him softly, and Fandral hesitates for a moment longer. 

“I think he could be, given time,” Fandral says: it is the truth. 

“I’m not so certain.” Loki crumples, his eyes tight shut to hold back tears. “Listen to me - a would-be traitor to my own brother.”

“You aren’t a traitor,” Fandral murmurs. drawing Loki close to him, his hands alighting soft and gentle on the sides of Loki’s neck. “You worry that he would bring ruin to Asgard, and to himself… That isn’t treachery. That is  _care_.”

“Father thinks I would have the throne for myself,” Loki mutters, shaking his head. “As if I desire to rule a people that despise me - as if they would ever accept it.”

“Loki,” Fandral says, almost scolding, and he pulls Loki closer. Their foreheads touch, Loki’s prominent nose brushing cool against Fandral’s own, and he feels Loki’s exhalation ghost over his own lips. “I love you. Thor might not be ready for the throne, yet… But you have wise counsel, and you know how to stay his temper. He will learn.”

“But don’t you understand?” Loki asks, his voice full of bitterness. “As soon as Thor is poised over the throne, I can never,  _ever_ leave. To leave would be to leave Thor open to attack, to the danger of his own sword. In poising him above the throne, Father has shackled me to Thor’s right hand, and he knows it. I had always planned, once Thor was ready for the throne, to  _leave_ , and in so rushing proceedings, Father has ensured that I cannot.”

“Would it be so bad?” Fandral asks softly, doing his best to keep the hurt from his voice. “To stay upon Asgard?”

“I hate Asgard,” Loki whispers. Fandral hates the words - and he can see Loki hates himself for saying them. His eyes are wet, and Fandral dusts kisses over the side of Loki’s jaw, over his cheek, over his closed eyelids, tasting salt on his tongue. 

“No, you don’t,” Fandral says. It is a lie. Loki sets his hands on Fandral’s chest, and he inhales shakily, leaning in to kiss Fandral on the lips. The kiss is featherlight, and gentle: the taste of it is distinctly bittersweet. “With you at his side, Thor will be nothing short of a great king.”

“Sometimes I wish he would be at my side for once, instead.” The confession comes unbidden from Loki’s lips, desperate, and Loki himself seems surprised by it. It hurts Fandral, to see Loki so  _distraught_ … But what can he do? What can any of them do? 

“Come, let us to bed,” Fandral suggests quietly. “I’ll read to you.” Loki hesitates, for just a moment, but then he assents. He falls asleep with his head in Fandral’s lap, Fandral’s hand in his hair, and even in slumber his brows are furrowed, his expression pinched in stress and anxiety.

Fandral wishes he knew what to do - but what can he do? Naught. Naught but support his compatriot, the man who will one day be his ruler, and settle side-by-side with the man who would advise that rule, that would temper its hard edges. Loki hates politics. Fandral knows this like he knows that grass is green and the sky is blue: he dislikes being trapped in court proceedings, in matters of law and etiquette, despite how he knows them all inside out. Fandral sighs, and he leans down, dragging his lips over Loki’s forehead. 

“For Asgard,” he murmurs quietly. “For Thor.”

In his sleep, Loki hums something half-formed and unintelligible, and he curls further into Fandral’s side. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/ask). Requests always open.


End file.
